Inkspatters
by Alory Shannon
Summary: A collection of drabbles and one-shots for various pairings and/or characters within the Narutoverse. Ratings will vary. Crack, canon, and pseudo-canon pairings will all likely be included. Prompts and pairings given by friends on Livejournal.
1. Three Little Words, JirTsu

Prompt: Three little words

Requester: the_arizzle

Pairing: Jiraiya x Tsunade

Rating: T

Word Count: 323

* * *

They were just three little words. Three simple little words, not more than a single syllable each, and yet somehow she couldn't bring herself to say them. After all this time, it would be a severe blow to her pride, and Tsunade did not deal well with humiliation.

There was no way to say it without making an admission, no way to remain dignified or keep herself from looking vulnerable and more than a little silly. She was the _Hokage,_ after all, and someone of her status simply did not need to say such things.

She sighed. She was getting old, and even if she didn't look it, she was starting to feel it more and more. But was she really growing so weak that those three little words had somehow become necessary?

No. That was ridiculous. She was _perfectly_ fine just the way she was, and if she acted like nothing was out of the ordinary, hopefully everyone would just go about their business and everything would just go on as usual—

"You planning on staying down there all night?"

She turned her head just slightly and cracked one eye, her alcohol-bleared gaze focusing (with difficulty) on the familiar face above her, smiling down at her with that eternally impish grin. Fighting back a smile of her own, she bit back her pride and finally gave in:

"Help me up," she grumbled.

Jiraiya offered her his hand without even a flicker of hesitation, and she placed her smaller, carefully manicured, but no less-strong hand in his warm, calloused one, allowing him to pull her back up onto the bench she'd somehow slipped off of in the midst of her sake-induced stupor.

And if he held onto her hand for a little longer than necessary, and if the redness across her cheekbones wasn't totally alcohol-related anymore, and if their knees happened to bump under the table, neither seemed to pay it any mind.


	2. You Don't Have To Stay, SasuSaku

Prompt: You don't have to stay anywhere forever

Requester: preeho/runwithskizzers

Pairing: Sasuke x Sakura

Rating: T

Word Count: 864

* * *

The sweat is still cooling on his body, his breath still holds a whisper of the gasping pant it had been minutes before, and he can still feel his heart frantically slamming blood through his veins when the uneasy sense of disquiet descends on him once again. His dark eyes drift open to stare unseeingly at the ceiling, reluctance tracing tension through the sleekly muscular lines of his body, but he knows from past nights that he won't have a moment's peace until he rids himself of this restlessness.

The bed hardly shifts as he rolls himself upright, the quiet, steady breathing of its other occupant doesn't alter in the least as he rises. Puddles of thick silver moonlight pouring through the window and pooling on the floor provide more than enough light for him to find the pants and shirt he'd been wearing earlier, and he hurriedly pulls them on, the hushed rustle of the fabric loud in his ears in the near-silence.

The floorboards don't creak, he doesn't bump into anything in the dark, and his passing scarcely disturbs the air in the space he moves through, but the instant his hand touches the door handle, there's a subtle change in the room's atmosphere, and he knows:

She's awake.

Shooting a glance over his shoulder, he watches her stir sleepily, reaching out to the still-warm patch of mattress he'd recently occupied, finding nothing, pausing for an instant before drawing her hand back. Her head turns towards him, eyes heavy with sleep and curiosity but most of all concern peering out from behind a screen of tousled pink locks, meeting his gaze steadily. She wakes up every time he leaves like this, and he doesn't really understand it, but it means something to him nonetheless, how she just looks at him, not saying a word. She doesn't ask why or where he's going, doesn't plead with him to stay, doesn't tell him to come back to bed; she simply continues to watch him silently until he slips out the door and into the night.

After everything that has happened, living in Konoha again is something of a trial, like willingly returning to a cage, and at times he chafes at the feeling of restraint it evokes. Here, they tell him where to go, whom to protect or kill and how, and what is important. Where he can't go, who he _can't_ protect or kill but rarely if ever _why,_ and what he isn't allowed to care about. What he isn't supposed to remember, and what he has to forget, at least officially.

Painful as it is, he's taken up residence in his old house, one of the few in the Uchiha sector that hadn't been damaged in the attack on Konoha years ago--he's far too proud not to, proud of who he is and what he is and those who had shared his blood, regardless of what anyone and everyone else thought of them or him. That house, that empty section of the city, is one of the reasons he's stayed as long as he has; what's more, it's one of the reasons he came back.

But he hasn't committed to anything yet. He could walk right out those gates and never look back, leave the world of his past behind and find somewhere else, a place where each room doesn't house a reminder, each street isn't crowded with recollections, each corner isn't haunted by a memory. He could start over with no expectations, no guilt, no distrust being leveled at him from all sides.

Yet he stays. Whether it's sheer stubbornness that keeps him here, the determination to have a different kind of revenge, living on and defying the Senju by remaining in Konoha and enabling the Uchiha grow strong and fill that empty sector once more, or…something else…isn't something Sasuke allows himself to dwell on most of the time.

Sakura is waiting for him when he slips back into the room as noiselessly as he'd left it, her eyes still steadily trained upon the door, her expression surprisingly unreadable. That changes when he steps inside: immediately her eyes soften, and she gives him a gentle, inviting smile--it's the same smile every time, and there is always only happiness and the tiniest hint of relief in it, never accusation or anger. And when he returns to their bed, her arms are open and waiting and warm, and he enjoys the heat and the feel of her body and bare skin pressed against his own, the welcome strength and promise of support and comfort and loyalty, the all-surrendering passion in the pressure of her mouth against his. And he might never say it, but at that moment, even he can't deny that _this_ is the primary reason he remains: having her here waiting, knowing the way that faith rewarded and hope fulfilled and love returned makes her eyes shine each time he comes back to her.

He knows that she'll take whatever he gives her, that she'll love him regardless of whether he stays or goes, that he doesn't have to stay with her, that he doesn't have to stay there or anywhere, for forever.

He just wants to.


	3. Inverse, SasuSaku

_Bonus: A snippet of Sakura's take on the previous drabble._

* * *

She wakes to find him leaving her again, and as always she feels that momentary stab of worry, that brief flicker of _what if he leaves for good this time, what if __**this**__ isn't enough. _She turns her head, forcing tired eyes to focus on the dark-clad figure standing at the door, and all she can do is look at him, drinking him in, because she knows from experience that if he's really decided to leave there's nothing she can say or do or offer that will make him stay, and so she watches, eyes clear and free of tears and careful in their observance of his every move.

He meets her gaze, and they share a long look before he slides the door open and steps out into the night.

And she breathes a near-silent sigh, eyes drifting half closed as she settles in to wait.

She's mostly certain that he'll return. She can't know absolutely, but the softer expression he turns on her when they're alone, the way he allows her to slip her arm through his even when they're out in public, the way his eyes follow her and linger on her face go a long way towards convincing her that he won't abandon her.

He hasn't yet, and each time he does come back, she believes a little more strongly that he never will.

But even if he does someday, she knows them both well enough to know that it won't change anything.


	4. Blush, SasuSaku

Prompt: Blush

Requester: none

Pairing: Sasuke x Sakura

Rating: T

Word Count: 143

* * *

The fact that his skin is paler than that of a good portion of the female population of Konoha has never bothered Sasuke (it went with being nearly-nobility, after all).

Never, that is, until this very moment.

"So what did you two do after I left last night?" Naruto's grin is predatory, almost a leer, and he leans in almost uncomfortably close, as if waiting to be told some deep, dark secret.

"_Tch._ Idiot," Sasuke mutters, jerking his head to the side and moving away from the fox-faced blonde.

"Sasuke-teme! I asked you a question! I know _something_ happened between you and Sakura-chan last night!"

"Nothing happened," the Uchiha heir replies calmly, but the bright scarlet flooding hotly over his cheekbones exposes the lie, and Naruto's devious chuckle warns him that this conversation is far from over.


	5. Hollow Eyes & Empty Words, Sasu&Kaka

Prompt: One possible future

Requester: none

Characters: Sasuke, Kakashi

Pairing: none

Rating: T

Word Count: 253

* * *

"…Does it ever get any easier?"

They are not the first people he's lost--far from it--but he asks the question anyway. Whether he's seeking comfort, some kind of reassurance, some scrap of hope, some shred of optimism, _something,_ _anything,_ even he doesn't know: the words came out before he could stop them.

Kakashi's single dark eye takes it all in--the slump-shouldered form of his former student kneeling on the ground, the drizzling rain, the muddy (bloody?) handprints on the memorial stone, Sasuke's torn knuckles, all of it--and the softness in his gaze is understanding, perhaps sympathetic, but not pitying. After a moment his gaze shifts, fixes on those two names--names he'd never wanted to be there before his own was added--both relatively new, one particularly so, and he breathes out a little heavier than usual, wanting more than anything to say that yes, the pain will dull and fade and life will go on and eventually new people will fill in the gaps, and someday he'll stop thinking he sees them moving through every crowd, someday he'll be whole again.

But he can't lie, not about this, no matter how much he wants to, and empathy is a poor second to reassurance, but it is the best he can manage.

"…No," he says, so quietly that the steady hiss of the rain almost drowns him out. "It never does."


	6. And If You Love, SasuSaku

Prompt: Choice

Requester: none

Pairing: SasuSaku

Rating: K

Word Count: 144

* * *

"…If you had to choose. Would it be them or me."

He wasn't sure what sort of answer he expected, but then again, he wouldn't've bothered asking in the first place if he'd known what she'd say or how she'd react. Perhaps he'd earn himself a flicker of surprise, perhaps a tensing of her shoulders and a tightening of the skin around her eyes, a sideways look of skepticism and considerate calculation.

The open smile he actually receives takes him utterly unaware, and he's the one looking at her with that flicker of surprise, but that smile doesn't falter as her hand finds his and she twines their fingers together.

She doesn't answer in words, at least not any that are spoken aloud, but they shine from her eyes and sparkle in her smile, fresh and clear as a spring day:

_You, of course.  
_

* * *

Sasuke/Sakura - And if you love, well, let that be enough.


	7. Name, SasuHina

Prompt: SasuHina

Requester: Phase (sort of. indirectly. XD)

Pairing: Sasuke x Hinata

Rating: K

Word Count: 82

* * *

"Sasuke-san—"

"You don't need to be so formal," he interrupts before she can really say anything.

She blinks those big, pale eyes, momentarily off-balance, before stuttering out a tentative, "S-Sasuke…kun?"

The pained expression passes over his face so briefly Hinata almost thinks she imagined it, but she knows she didn't. His face itself is expressionless, but his eyes have gone so very cold, and she twiddles her fingers desperately, wondering just what she's said wrong.

"Sasuke," he says firmly. _"Just_ Sasuke."


	8. Or So They Say, Sasuke

Prompt: Cold hands, warm heart

Requester: none

Pairing: Sasuke/?

Rating: T

Word Count: 915

A/N: ...This...is rather a lot more _vague _than my usual writing...but it was particularly fun because there's more than one way to read this, and the girl could be...just about anyone, really, couldn't she? :3

* * *

Her hands are always warm. It's one of the first things he notices about her, and he finds a sort of comfort in that warmth, accepting her touch without protest but only rarely reaching for it or requesting it.

His hands are always cold. They always have been--he can remember his mother remarking on this, cupping them in her own and rubbing them gently, breathing on them; but though they were warm so long as they remained in her grasp, as soon as she released them, they soon lost whatever heat they'd gained.

[_"It's a wonder they haven't fallen off by now. Go ahead and take your time in the bath tonight, Sasuke."_ In contrast, Itachi's hands had never seemed particularly warm _or_ cold, just smooth and dry and a little calloused; his father's were the same way.]

It's never bothered him, he'd never really paid it any thought until now, when he finds himself forced to offer her his hand so frequently, due to her condition. Now, though, he wonders if it bothers her, if it's uncomfortable or unpleasant, and that possibility troubles him more than he ever would have expected.

He doesn't say anything, but even so she must have sensed his uncertainty, perhaps noticing the slight, shuddering hesitance every time he extends his hand to steady her, though her own grip never halts or wavers.

"Cold hands, warm heart," she says one day with her soft little smile, the one that makes the skin at the corners of her eyes crinkle. His brow contracts in consternation at those words, a considering frown. (Hadn't his mother said the same thing? He can't remember really, which sickens him, because even though it's only an inconsequential fact buried more than fifteen years in the past, to him, those almost-lost minor details are somehow always the most precious.)

[_"I'll have to keep you in mittens year 'round."_ That exchange he does remember, and the gently teasing laugh that went along with it. Almost subconsciously, he wonders if perhaps that's why he'd taken such a liking to wearing arm guards later on.]

"Emotions affect circulation, so it means your feelings are very strong and that you really care a lot…o-or so they say," she continues after a moment. She hasn't let go of his hand, even though she's safely down the steps by now. "…Also…in extreme weather, your blood goes to the places you need in order to survive...and the heart is one thing it's careful to protect."

[_"They say blood is thicker than water. And it is...but not by much."_ Maybe it's true, but what does that matter when that questionable density wasn't enough to prevent more than one sort of betrayal, or to protect not his literal, but his metaphysical heart? What does it matter when he is the only one who still carries that somehow-perhaps-too-thin blood?]

(…But he isn't, he reminds himself, looking at the waxing-full figure of his wife. Not anymore. And never again, he swears to himself.)

He doesn't reply, his expression still drawn-in and pensive; but he doesn't pull his hand away from hers either, not until they've reached the bench in the middle of their garden and she's safely seated on it.

"Your hands are always warm," he says, more statement than question, though there's a subtle hint of inquisitiveness about it. He looks at her sideways through half-lidded eyes that ask, _and what do 'they' say about that?_

And here, she does pause. "...Warm hands, cold heart," she replies, looking down at fingers twiddling in what's left of her largely-eclipsed lap. "There's no explanation for that one, really...it's just the opposite of the other saying."

"But it's wrong." They're both a little startled by the words. He doesn't normally say such things, doesn't care what anyone else says, especially about trivial things like this, but this time is somehow different; another inconsequential fact or minor detail that he can't merely allow to slip through his too-cold grasp. And after his slight surprise fades, she finds that he's not the least bit embarrassed or regretful of those words and everything they said without saying. And for once, even that isn't enough.

"It's wrong about you," he clarifies after a moment, looking no more self-conscious or sorry for his words than before, which is not at all.

His gaze on her is steady, but hers is turned downward once more, watching as she folds and unfolds her hands, and twists and untwists her fingers, turning the plain silver band on her fourth finger round and round.

She doesn't look up.

"Is it really," she says quietly, and the uncharacteristically closed expression her face adds a _sometimes I wonder._

[_"Cold hands, warm heart."_ For the first time, he believes it; and (not nearly for the first time) he wishes it wasn't true.]

When he, unthinkingly, takes her hand to help her back up the stairs into the house half an hour later, he feels as if the heat of her hand almost burns him.

But he _feels_ it; this time, his grip is steady. And he doesn't let go.


End file.
